


guilt machine

by ivorydice



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt!noctis, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Game(s), mentions of needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/pseuds/ivorydice
Summary: This, all of this, was bad. Potentially disastrous, even, and he wasn’t sure how they had done it in the first place but they had.Niflheim had a new weapon in their arsenal, and this one could prove to be their winning hand in the war.





	guilt machine

**Author's Note:**

> tauriofthestorm prompted me on tumblr with: "Niflheim abducts Noctis and uses him as a magic battery."
> 
> Could be considered slightly AU I guess ~~although let's admit it, I use that excuse now to try and cover my ass if I forget anything about canon and mess up with fics lolololol #badhabits~~

  
  
He didn’t know how long it had been since he had been brought into this place. Days, weeks,  _months_. Time became meaningless after a while, after he was prodded and poked at and tased to make him more cooperative. It all blended into one thing, until there was nothing but the pain, the exhaustion, the frustration. The unconsciousness that kept pulling him under, like a weight wrapped around his ankle and pulling him down,  _down_ , to drown in it all. His mind became fuzzy with it, until he couldn’t think past the ringing and the blood roaring in his ears.  
  
It was a shame, because he liked to think he had started out so well. He had used his training, he had done everything Gladio and Cor had prepared him for. He had fought in the beginning, when they had first brought him in. He had punched and kicked and thrown himself around, warping out of grasping hands, and it had taken several of them at once to hold him down long enough to tase him until he was unconscious.  
  
And that was where it all went downhill. Once they had him unconscious, they had strapped him into the machine waiting for him. And once he was strapped in, there was little else he could do but thrash in his restraints. He had fought against them, had pulled at the straps so much that he had nearly dislocated his arms more than once, had pulled until the wires and needles had ripped out of his flesh, tearing the skin open. All the while yelling curses at them and warning them that it wouldn’t be long before the crownsguard found him, before his dad would make them all pay.  
  
They didn’t care. Not about his threats, or even about him. They just carried on with their jobs, their faces cold and closed off whenever they were around him, as if he was a mere  _object_ , one of their test subjects, nothing human or alive.  
  
And escape was no longer within his grasp. Days, weeks, months, however long it had been, attached to this damn machine, tased unconscious whenever he fought too much, and now he felt too weak, to the point where even opening his eyes was the hardest thing he could do. There was no chance in hell that he could escape now, not like this.  
  
And it was all Noctis could do not to let that tiny spark of hope that they might someday win this war die away like a snuffed out candle.  
  
Because this, all of this, was bad. Potentially disastrous, even, and he wasn’t sure how they had done it in the first place but they had.  
  
Niflheim had a new weapon in their arsenal, and this one could prove to be their winning hand in the war.  
  
They had somehow found a way to tap into his magic. This machine, this  _strange_  machine that seemed to take up an entire wall, attached to him through the wires and needles buried into his arms and his chest and his legs and up along his back. It was draining him, whatever it was. It pulled on his magic whenever the scientists pressed their little buttons and flicked their switches and turned their dials. It was feeding off of him, leaching every bit of energy he had so that it could power up. He could feel the way his magic left him, how, instead of naturally running through him to heal whatever miniscule injuries he had, it shot up through the wires instead. It made him feel cold, it made him feel sick.  
  
And he could  _feel_  where it went. Crawling up through wires and metal and concrete, pouring itself into more wires, along conduits, and, finally, into the weapon.  
  
He sort of had to give Niflheim some credit for that. They had managed to create a weapon that could be fuelled by magic, and they had done that without ever having been in possession of magic themselves.  
  
It would have been nice to know just  _how_  they had managed to accomplish that, at least.  
  
Days, weeks, months.  
  
He wondered if his dad and the crownsguard would ever find him. They knew he was gone - there was no doubt about that, however long it had been it had clearly been long enough that his absence would have been noticed - but did they even know where he was? Did they know how to find him?  
  
They had to, they  _had_  to.  
  
He just had to have hope.  
  
But it was hard to keep his hopes up. Especially when the scientists flicked more switches on their control panels and pain shot through every inch of his body, through his muscles, his veins, his bones. Fire and electricity and ice ran through him and burned him from the inside out. He could feel his magic pouring out into the wires attached to his flesh, draining out of him and into the machine he was strapped into.  
  
Not again,  _not again_.  
  
He felt pain in his palms. His fingernails digging in, nearly drawing blood. He squeezed his eyes shut, like that would stop the images from coming to him. It never stopped the images. He was always forced to watch, as if the machine  _wanted_  him to see, as if it was a sentient thing and it loathed him and it wanted him to see the pain he would cause.  
  
But that wasn’t it. He knew it was just his magic. Whether it was with spells or warping, he was always so  _aware_  of where his magic went, he could feel it extending out like another limb, his senses hyper aware of every pulse of energy. And now was no different.  
  
“Try switching the settings around on those dials,” someone said. The voice was muffled and distorted, like trying to listen to it from underwater. When Noctis opened his eyes, he could only squint at the bright lights, the world tilting and swaying.  
  
_Fuck you,_  he wanted to scream.  _Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._  
  
The  _pull_  on his magic grew stronger, until he felt like it might rip him apart, and white hot pain lanced through him as his vision jerked. The room before him, the computers, the wires, the people, it all washed away, replaced instead with bright lights and the landscape rushing by, travelling so fast and so far, he felt like a meteor burning up in the atmosphere.  
  
And then—there, another light up ahead, gold and shimmering and huge. Familiar energy, familiar  _magic_ , and encased in that magic was  _home_. It hurt to see it, even as brief as the image was, but to see those skyscrapers, those buildings—it hurt.  
  
Noctis thought he might be screaming, even though his throat was a little raw these days. He tried to clamp down on the energy, on the magic, tried to squash it and make it weak, but he was powerless. Even with his own gods damn magic he was powerless, and dread ran through him like ice.  
  
_Watch out. Watch out, watch out, watch out._  
  
He could only watch, helpless, as the ball of energy slammed into the Wall. He felt the impact himself, as if  _he_  was the one that had collided with it. He felt it in his chest, in his bones, and it left him winded, fire crawled along every vein, until he thought it might consume him.  
  
And he could see the way the magic almost broke through the protective shell, the shield that  _hummed_  with his father’s energy. He felt the echoes of it, the ghost of the magic running along his skin, a warm familiar presence, and he felt that longing in him again even as his fear grew.  
  
He wondered if his dad could feel him too. He wondered if he sat on the throne, feeling the echoes of the attack along his skin and, with it, traces of Noctis’s energy.  
  
They were getting better at harnessing his magic. Every shot they made with the weapon grew stronger as they changed their tactics. Soon enough, they would know how to manipulate his magic completely, how to make it fuel the weapon so that they could break through the Wall, so that they could shatter his father’s magic with his own.  
  
The images washed away and he was back in the room. His ears were ringing and the room was swaying again, more violently than before. The sights and sounds of the scientists were trying to crawl in, but it was like white noise to his senses.  
  
There was something warm coming from his nose, running down along his lips and chin. Something warm trickling down the sides of his throat, coming from his ears. His heart pounded in his chest, fast and a little unsteady.  
  
He couldn’t move. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was strapped into the machine, he probably would have fallen flat on his face and remained there. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore, everything hurt too much, everything  _hurt_ , and supporting himself now seemed like too much of an effort. He always felt like he was on the brink of unconsciousness these days, but this was different.  
  
He was getting worse. With every shot they made, he was getting worse. He wondered if the next one would kill him. He wondered if the shot that broke through the Wall would be the one to finally take his life.  
  
He almost hoped he wouldn’t make it that long. If he died before they could make that final shot, well then, that would be the biggest middle finger he could give to Niflheim.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
Something was different.  
  
Noctis was aware of the voices before he could open his eyes. Slumped back into the machine, letting it take his weight even if it pulled at the wires and needles, he groaned and tried to listen to what was going on, to make out what they were saying. But the ringing in his ears was simply too much, the pounding of his heart blocked everything out, he couldn’t—  
  
“—sound—alarms—”  
  
“—turrets—”  
  
“—evac—”  
  
Something started ringing. A loud, piercing sound, nearly deafening. It lanced through Noctis’s skull, scraped against every nerve. He could only groan, letting his head fall back, trying to open his eyes.  
  
The scientists in the room were in a frenzy. He couldn’t focus on their faces or their voices properly, but he could see the panicked way they were moving around, from computer to computer, some rushing out of the room altogether, clearly with no intentions of returning.  
  
“—I’m telling you—”  
  
“—could drain him—need his energy—”  
  
“—damn gun turrets—lose your job—”  
  
Noctis frowned and swallowed, grimacing when he thought he tasted blood. He didn’t like the sound of this, the tones of their voices, like they were desperate.  
  
His magic  _pulled_ , shooting through him and up the wires, and he cried out, his entire body locking into place. This wasn’t the weapon they had been using. The way his magic was pouring into the machine and  _outwards_ , into so many different directions, it was different compared to the large weapon they had been using him for.  
  
And still that alarm was ringing, echoing throughout his head, even as his vision jerked and pulled, twisted sideways, blurred images coming into focus.  
  
Blue light. Shattering into crystals and shards, a figure disappearing along with it. Other blue lights, shooting back and forth, figures emerging out of thin air. Noctis felt a pull on his magic, it ripped from his skin, and he saw smaller bursts of energy shooting for those figures, his magic chasing after them, trying to  _kill_  them.  
  
More flashes and his vision was jerking again, twisting and pulling until he was looking somewhere else, like his magic wanted him to see everything at once. There were more figures, ducking and dodging, swinging weapons and fighting against guards. His magic shot out at those figures too, nearly caught them, until blue sparks were appearing right in front of him, attacking him. Noctis thought he jumped backwards, flinching away from the hit, though he felt no pain.  
  
A blade swung down for him, and his vision went black for a moment.  
  
And, with it, a small amount of relief. His magic didn’t feel so stretched out.  
  
“—you sure—powered—all the turrets?”  
  
“Yes, but—it’s those—they’re taking them out—”  
  
More images, more blue lights, more figures appearing and disappearing, more solid figures dodging out of the way of his magic. He felt nauseous with the way his vision kept spinning around, the way it jumped from place to place, unstable and chaotic. But there were more blue sparks and weapons coming for him, at each different angle, blades swinging down on each location, and each time there was another wave of relief, his magic slowly retreating back into him, sinking back into the machine, through the wires and into his body.  
  
“—damn it—must evacuate—can’t win—”  
  
A final image of four figures, charging into a building. A flash of tattoos, a flash of blond hair.  
  
And then black.  
  
His magic rushed back into him and he sank into the machine, breathless, exhausted, sweat making his hair stick to his brow. He could feel more warmth trickling from his nose and his ears, he felt nauseous from the taste of blood running down his throat, metallic and warm and  _disgusting_.  
  
But he was no longer tense. He no longer had that fire and ice and electricity burning him up inside, running along every vein like tiny daggers splitting him open.  
  
The alarm was no longer ringing, and the room seemed emptier than before, only a few voices remaining. There were hands on him, pulling at the wires and needles, ripping them out of him, and Noctis groaned, opened his eyes enough to glare at the scientists in front of him.  
  
“—evacuate—take him back—Niflheim—try again—”  
  
“Get off,” Noctis mumbled. He tried to move away from them, to pull his arms away, but he could still barely move, his body weighed down, heavier than any metal, any stone. “Leave me alone—”  
  
A bang. Loud and startling. Noctis jumped at it, flinching back into the machine, barely able to keep his eyes open as he saw the doors burst open, figures marching through, their weapons at the ready. There was a commotion as the hands pulled away from him sharply, footsteps running away, things crashing to the ground as the figures slammed into the scientists and had them pinned down within moments.  
  
“Noct!”  
  
Something appeared in front of him, hands reaching up for his face, and Noctis found himself staring down at the figure in front of him. There was something familiar about it, as blurred and wavering as it was. He  _knew_  this face, he knew it—  
  
“Noct?” the figure was saying, lips moving desperately, voice piercing through the blood roaring in his ears. “—hear me, buddy?”  
  
“Prom—” Noctis breathed out. Confusion washed through him, and he frowned again. Prompto was  _here_ , he was right in front of him, smiling with relief, and he wasn’t a dream. But  _how_  was Prompto here? “What—”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Prompto was saying. “We’re here—gonna get you out—” His face twisted, grimacing, and there were shaking fingers pulling at the remaining wires and needles buried into Noctis’s skin.  
  
“Use a potion!” someone yelled.  
  
Prompto grimaced before looking over at one of the figures as he called back, “I need to get these wires out first! Ignis, come help me!”  
  
“—suggest you lay down any weapons you have,” someone else was saying, voice deep and strong and leaving no room for argument, “we have this entire facility surrounded.”  
  
Noctis squeezed his eyes shut. There were so many voices and sounds,  _too many sounds_ , and it made his head spin. There were more hands on him, gentle and yet firm, helping to hold him up and steady him as the wires and needles were pulled out one by one. It seemed to take forever, but he could ignore it now, he could ignore the way they slid out of his skin, nothing compared to the burning sensation of his magic being ripped from his very being.  
  
He let the hands do what they wanted, let them manoeuvre him this way and that. They were warm and familiar and comforting,  _safe_ , as were the voices in his ears, murmuring things to him that he couldn’t quite make out. He let it wash over him, finally giving into the idea that maybe it was over now, maybe he wouldn’t have to power some machine ever again, maybe his dad would be safe from his son’s magic attacking him and their kingdom.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, the scientists were gone and he was laying on the floor, Ignis’s arms wrapped around him and holding him up, a bottle held up to his now clean lips. Noctis opened his mouth obediently, drinking it down and feeling the resulting magic run through him, fresh and reinvigorating.  
  
There were other faces, hovering over him, watching him in concern. Prompto, Gladio, Cor. They were all covered in sweat and dirt and blood, and it was such a weird sight that Noctis could only stare for a moment.  
  
“Hey,” Prompto said quietly, “you with us now, bud?”  
  
Noctis swallowed the rest of the potion down, shifting in the arms that held him. Ignis murmured something, placing the potion bottle down onto the floor, choosing to run his hand through Noctis’s hair instead despite that it clearly needed a wash or two.  
  
“Your Highness?” Cor said.  
  
Noctis blinked up at them. “You found me.”  
  
Gladio snorted, as if he was amused, but his eyes were still tight, concern shining through. “You weren’t really too hard to find,” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” Prompto grinned, “just had to look for the giant cannon firing magic nukes.”  
  
Noctis stared at them, his head still spinning, struggling to catch up with everything, and yet he couldn’t help but say, “So your grand plan was to head directly to the cannon with magic nukes?”  
  
“Only way to get you out,” Prompto shrugged.  
  
“Yeah, you’re welcome by the way,” Gladio added.  
  
Noctis wanted to roll his eyes. “You idiots,” he muttered, but there was warmth running through him again, warmth and affection. “Could’ve gotten yourselves killed.”  
  
“The marshal insisted that we didn’t come along for this mission, for that very reason,” Ignis murmured. His hand was still running through his hair, fingers brushing it back, soothing and gentle. It made Noctis a little sleepy. “We insisted that we did.”  
  
Cor let out a heavy sigh. “It seems you have a stubborn crownsguard, Your Highness. Not even His Majesty could convince them to stay behind.”  
  
“Why does it sound like an insult when you put it like that?” Prompto muttered.  
  
Noctis found himself smiling a little, unable to help himself, but his heart was pounding at the mention of his father. The Wall had taken some horrible blows, it might have weakened him,  _hurt_  him, and Noctis would never forgive himself if his magic had done that. “My dad,” he murmured, and he looked up at Ignis, managing to reach his hand up a little to clutch at his jacket, “is my dad okay?”  
  
“His Majesty is perfectly fine,” Ignis said, his voice soft. “Although he is quite eager to see you returned home. As are we.”  
  
“Might want to get you cleaned up a bit first, though,” Gladio said. “You’re not exactly a stunning sight right now, Your Highness.”  
  
“Your  _face_  isn’t a stunning sight,” Noctis muttered. It was more out of habit than anything else, but he could see the way Gladio appreciated it, the way his face softened a little, the way his shoulders lost some of their tension.  
  
Noctis sighed and he shifted in Ignis’s arms, tried to get his hands underneath him, to push himself upright, but then every muscle was screaming at him, locking into place and making him grimace.  
  
“Easy,” Ignis murmured, and he and Prompto were pushing him back down into his arms. “Don’t try to move. You might have had a potion, but you still need time to heal.”  
  
“The kingsglaive soldiers have the place cleared,” Cor said, but he was directing it to the others, his eyes flicking from one face to the other. “Let’s get him into the van and we can take him back to Insomnia.”  
  
Prompto was smiling, coming closer, his hand reaching out to rest on Noctis’s forehead, fingers trailing into his hair briefly. “You hear that, buddy? You’re coming home.”  
  
Home. Days, weeks, months, he had been away for  _so long_ , his magic battering the Wall, and yet it remained unharmed. He could still return home. He could see his dad again, he could see him with his own eyes, could make sure for himself that he was okay, and he could apologise for any damage he and his magic might have done.  
  
Noctis sighed again, relaxing back into Ignis’s arms, turning into him. “Yeah, I wanna go home now,” he murmured. Ignis’s heartbeat was steady under his ear, almost hypnotic, soothing to listen to. It made him feel safe and warm.  
  
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you there,” Gladio said.  
  
Ignis’s arms tightened around him, holding him close as he said, “Sleep, Noct. Allow us to take care of everything else. You needn’t worry about a thing.”  
  
He didn’t worry, even as Ignis rose to his feet and carried him out of that damn room. He didn’t worry even as Cor, Gladio and Prompto went into formation around them, guarding them the whole way, their weapons still ready despite the fact that the threat had already been taken care of. Clearly they all had his back, they were crazy enough to rush into an enemy facility to rescue him, and so he knew he had nothing to worry about now.  
  
Noctis closed his eyes, giving into unconsciousness, letting it tug him under, content in the fact that he was finally going home.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to point out any spelling mistakes/grammar issues/inconsistencies/etc.
> 
> You can find me at [tumblr](https://ivorydice.tumblr.com).


End file.
